A year ago,  it was my last weekend in the city before I left for grad school. Last summer, as I have stated before, I reveled in the romanticism of being an unhindered 20-something in the city. I was empowered. More than ever, I was breaking out of old habits. The term social butterfly was tailor made for me, last summer. I loved my life, and I spent the last weekend celebrating, and trying not to get too sad over the fact that once I left things would never be the same. The Astorians threw me a party the Friday before I left. Saturday night was a mish-mash of old friends, PLI-ers, misc. people and unexpected guest. Sunday was choice encounters with Jill-IAN, and then Astorians. It was a perfect weekend to cap off a perfect summer.

Of course, I’m also realistic enough to know that one of the reasons last summer was so amazing because I knew it was temporary. I wouldn’t have “lived my life like a dream” if it wasn’t. (I’m quoting the REM song “Leavng New York” song there, which I listened to 12 million times) I don’t expect to have a summer like that anytime soon, because the last comprable one was seven years prior.

So it’s not wonder that after that summer, I crashed when I got to Chicago, and felt like the rug had been pulled out from under my feet and panicked. If I stayed in New York, I never could have sustained such perfection and wonderfulness and etc, and I know that. But it still sucked to get to UChicago and not automatically be thrilled and happy and exhilirated with the opportunity to be studying with brilliant people. Things even went pretty well and I was being relatively social and stuff, but I just didn’t CARE about most of my classes.

I was a pretty big mess the first quarter. And I just didn’t care enough about school; that’s what made me start to realize a PhD was not for me. I knew on the surface level that it was pretty awesome that my thesis advisor was a famous expert on the subject, but really? It didn’t matter to me. I didn’t “take advantage of the opportunity.” I just did what I needed to do, and that was enough for me. The best thing I could do for myself was throw myself into my thesis and get the hell out of there. And it worked. I graduated in June like I wanted to. I have no regrets about how I handled the year. I am so grateful to be out of Chicago, because I felt like I was suffocating there.

Now, a year after I left, I have my Masters and I have a job (this time, one I actually want.) and I can’t wait to get back to Astoria. I was sitting on the N train, waiting to pull out of the Ditmars station and its just  beautiful. Hell Gate Bridge in the background, cars rushing down the Triborough in the foreground, and signs in four different languages and there is just no way this will ever not be an awe inspiring view to me. This may sell me out on ever being a “true New Yorker” (how deep do Jersey roots run?) but I may as well enjoy it, because every time I travel out to Astoria, I’m anxious to get there, and when i step out of the subway station, I feel home.

I was not panicked when I left New York a year ago, because I knew it was “the right thing to do.” To turn down a scholarship to an MA program at UChicago would have been “irrational.” I still don’t feel it was the wrong decision, because I don’t feel I’ve lost anything by going. And sure, I’m probably romanticizing how awesome its going to be to move back to Astoria and get back into my life there and in the city. But whatever it is, I’m happy its happening. I’m happy things have gone this way.